


Let Me Live Again

by orphan_account



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, Reincarnation, Soulmates, Time Loop
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-10
Packaged: 2018-05-25 20:53:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6209737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her dreams—her dreams, they always starts like this:</p><p>Golden skin, glowing under the gaze of the sun. A timid smile, of enchantment and of wonder. A pair of emerald eyes, staring back at her. </p><p>Her dreams always start with her, a girl unfamiliar and yet inexplicably tethered, and Clarke always wakes up from them wondering why that is.</p><p>Soulmate/Reincarnation/Time Loop AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Reincarnation AU mixed with “I have dreams of my past life with you but without context” Soulmate AU with a dash of Time Loop AU. It’s a fix-it of sorts.

 

 

 _“_ Whatever happens tomorrow, we had today; I’ll always remember it. _”_

— _O_ _ne Day (David Nicholls)_

 

 

*

 

 

Her dreams—her dreams, they always starts like this:

Golden skin, glowing under the gaze of the sun. A timid smile, of enchantment and of wonder. A pair of emerald eyes, staring back at her.

Her dreams always start with _her,_ a girl unfamiliar and yet inexplicably tethered, and Clarke always wakes up from them wondering why that is.

 

 

 

*

 

 

She asks her mother once, while they’re sitting across from each other, the cell door the only thing that’s separating them. Clarke asks her once what they mean, and her mother tells her this:

“Sometimes the dreams we have are just wishes, of things we can’t have.”

The answer makes her frown with dissatisfaction, because the answer unsettles her.

(Is it because her dreams are of a girl whom she’s never met? Or that she’s dreaming of a girl that she will never have?)

She scratches her fingernails against the floor absentmindedly, and asks her one more question before their time is up and her mother has to leave again. She asks her mother if she’s dreamed of her father, ever since he’s been floated. Her answer comes with a sad smile:

“Every night, honey.”

 

 

*

 

 

That night, she dreams of this:

She is on Earth, on the damp, damp ground, with water and dirt and _air._ She breathes in deeply, tries to soak in the world she’s never thought she’d have the chance of living on, when she hears a roar from a distance.

She sits up, and finds the girl staring back at her.

“It’s okay. You’re safe.”

Warmth blooms, from her chest and through her veins. Clarke believes her words, and for the first time in a long time, she doesn’t feel so alone.

 

 

*

 

 

The next day, a guard comes into her cell and Clarke knows that it’s a death sentence. She rushes past him, escapes her cell, and runs. She runs and runs until she runs into her mother, who hugs her goodbye one last time and says:

“You’re not being executed, Clarke. You’ve been chosen to be sent to the ground.”

 _They’re one and the same_ Clarke wants to protest, but she feels a sharp needle hit her back. Suddenly her vision is blurry and her limbs are weak.

She feels herself being carried away to a fate she cannot escape, and she falls—

down, down, down, into a dreamless sleep.

 

 

*

 

 

When Clarke lands from the sky and to the ground, it is with an explosion of smoke and fire and ash. The boys around her complain about the headaches from the change in pressure, but she thinks to herself, as she makes her way out of the dropship, it’s a miracle that they survived the fall at all.

But they did, and now here they are.

 

 

*

 

 

It’s her. 

It’s her again but this time, she is covered in warpaint, sitting on the throne with guards by her side. She looks like she is royalty—a God to her people—and in this dream, Clarke tries to get her to understand she means no harm to her or those she’s sworn to protect.

But this girl—her expression is stoic, her eyes are distant, her demeanour, cold—

and it leaves Clarke wondering how they can ever move past this, to fight on the same side, rather than against.

 

 

*

 

 

She meets a boy, shortly after. He is stubborn and cocky and much too reckless.

But _oh_ is he fearless. He makes Clarke remember what it was like to have no worries—to be unburdened and free. He makes her laugh whole-heartedly and smile so wide it’d rival the sea. And when he flashes his charming grin as they splash in the water, she finds herself believing that maybe he could be it.

 

 

*

 

 

She comes back that night, stood beside her as the pyre in front of them burns high and up into smoke. She whispers under her breath in warning:

_Love is weakness._

Clarke says nothing in return, as she watches the fire engulf the remains of a corpse she does not yet know.

 

 

*

 

 

The next morning Finn asks her what’s wrong. She lies and tells him it’s the pressure of keeping everyone alive, and as expected, he pulls her into a hug and tells her not to worry too much.

She smiles back but it doesn’t reach her eyes. She still hears the lingering echoes from _her,_ of how it won’t last.

 

 

*

 

 

It doesn’t.

Another ship descends from the sky, like a star falling down from the heavens, and the girl who comes out of it introduces herself as Raven.

Clarke doesn’t recognize her, but Finn does. Raven hugs him as though she’s known him all her life, and though Clarke smiles for them and their reunion, Clarke’s heart—

Hers aches.

 

 

*

 

 

For the next five days, she dreams of nothing. No girl. No Earth. Just a blank canvas of white. Emptiness. 

She should be glad. The girl that haunts her dreams is gone. But she wakes up every morning feeling restless, and she wonders if she’s missing something.

 

 

*

 

 

There’s a war brewing that Clarke doesn’t think she can stop. Anya warns her there can be no truce: Clarke and her people have attacked the Grounders in more ways than one, and for that they must pay. She means no harm—they all mean no harm, Clarke pleads to her. They just want to survive, to coexist, but Anya is not convinced.

They have to fight a war they didn’t mean to start, and Clarke knows what that means: For as long as she has to, she’ll put her own needs second—she can’t let her people die.

She won’t.

 

 

*

 

 

The girl lies in bed behind her as Clarke stares at a blueprint for another war she has not yet fought. In this dream, her vision is blurry—she can’t make out the battle pieces, and she can’t make what the girl’s saying—her voice drifts in and out. But Clarke keeps talking—talks about war plans and Bellamy—and the girl, with her voice full of wisdom and faith, tells her this:

_You were born for this, Clarke. Same as me._

 

 

*

 

 

Those are the nine words that ring in her ears as she forces herself to close the dropship doors with her people fighting outside.

Jasper presses the incinerate button, and Clarke mourns for all of those she must leave behind.

 

 

*

 

 

By the time she opens the doors, all she sees is death. She steps onto the ground and her shoes crunches on top of bones. Skulls. Ash made of burnt flesh—from the lives that she has taken.

This is the consequence of war, caused by inevitability and a forcing of her hand.

Red grenades suddenly bounce off the ship, and smoke disperses. It is too late to escape it—it is too late, and she does not fight it. She kneels on the floor on her hands and knees, coughing, and the last thing she remembers before passing out is praying in her head for forgiveness:

Let there come a day when I can atone for it all. For all the injustices I’ve committed in the name of my people. Let there be mercy. Let there be absolution.

Let me be free from these burdens I’ve never wished to carry, and let me be.

 

 

*

 

 

The girl is laying down on the bed, a small smile on her lips and peace in her eyes.

But.

There is blood on her mouth and wetness on Clarke’s cheeks and stickiness on her hands. She cries and cries and begs for this girl not to leave her, but the girl smiles and tells her

_Death is not the end, Clarke_

and closes her eyes.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

*

 

 

She wakes up with a jolt in an unfamiliar room. It is white—it is much, much too white, and she knows that something is wrong.

Her friends don’t agree. They are safe. They have found happiness on the ground, and it is called Mount Weather. They are well-fed, they are protected.

They want to stay.

So she escapes—promising herself that she’ll come back for her friends—and breaks Anya out of her cage, bringing her along in her\\\\*

 

 

*

 

 

They were not without differences, and they were not without conflict, but they were finally in agreement: to fight Mount Weather together.

Now Anya bleeds in her hands, and she is scared that the war that she thought she’d ended is about to start again.

It is too much. Her body cannot take the strain, nor can her weary mind. She succumbs herself to sleep, and the world continues to spin.

 

 

*

 

 

The girl—unlike all the times before—is without warpaint, without blademail, and without blood marring her features. She’s stood in front of her door, dressed in a nightgown and her hair let down, flowing in waves. She thanks Clarke for something that Clarke’s done, and in that moment, she sees the girl for all that she is: She is a girl with nervous hands and tired shoulders, humble smiles and eyes full of adoration. This girl in front of her is just a girl, underneath all the warpaint and all the armor that she wears. She’s a girl who’s had to endure far too much and had to grow up too quickly—just like her.

She feels something in her heart shift, and before her dream ends, Clarke lets her in.

 

 

*

 

 

She finds Finn from the sound of gunshots and visceral screams. She finds Finn staring back at her with guns in both hands and fallen grounders surrounding him, where he stands.

 _I found you,_ he tells her, and she’s stood there in horror, watches as the wounded grounders groan in pain and beg for help. There is blood marring Finn’s hands—people he has killed in order to find her.

She looks down on her own two hands, and there is blood on hers too.

Death does not come without a cost, and that cost is war. She’s learned this once before, and here, the cycle repeats.

She comes up with a plan to prevent that from happening and enters the grounder camp, alone.

 

 

*

 

 

It’s her.

It’s the girl from her dreams, and Clarke can’t stop staring. She wonders if she’s in a dream now, if she’s currently sleeping, but these questions are answered when the girl looks up at her:

There’s a flash of recognition in her eyes, too, and then—gone. 

Clarke isn’t dreaming.

This is real.

 

 

*

 

 

The meeting goes exactly as how it’d went in her head, dozens of days before.

The girl—Commander— _Lexa,_ doesn’t look surprised, and neither does Clarke. After all, Clarke has seen this girl all her life—feels as though known her for just as long. But to see her _here,_ to see her real and tangible to the touch—

she doesn’t know what to make of it.

(All she knows is that whenever Lexa is near, her heart calms in its quiet beating and relief comes in overwhelming waves, to know that Lexa is here with her.)

 

 

*

 

 

They will have a truce only when Finn dies, and Clarke’s heart sinks.

(In the end, she chooses to kill Finn herself—swiftly and painlessly—but it is not without pain on her heart and pain in her bones. Her tears fall silently as she hears grounders rustle and shout in discontentment—and then, silence.

When Clarke looks up at Lexa, she finds her looking back at Clarke, as though she’d known Clarke would do this from the start.)

 

 

*

 

 

They stand side by side as Finn and those he had killed burn in the pyre in front of her, just as they did in her dreams, except this:

Her chest is empty, her eyes are tired, and Finn is still gone even after the pyre burns out.

 

 

*

 

 

She finds no solace in sleep, because all she sees is Lexa.

She doesn’t want to see her face—all she’s reminded of is _Finn,_ but she can’t escape her. Every night in her dreams, whenever she goes, Lexa follows, and tonight, all Clarke sees is this:

Her knife is against Lexa’s neck, close enough to slit her throat, close enough kill her. But in silent admission and in quiet guilt, Lexa whispers her an apology. She looks at her for forgiveness, and Clarke—with wet eyes and trembling lips—cannot bring herself to do it.

The knife in Clarke’s hand falls away, and the tears she’d kept at bay fall freely down her cheeks.

 

 

*

 

 

They run.

They run and they run until there is nowhere left to run but jump. Lexa is injured, caught in the paws of the Pauna, and she orders Clarke to leave her behind.

But Clarke doesn’t. She reaches for her gun, and shoots all the bullets she has left in her magazine. She pulls Lexa away from the Pauna before it reaches for her again, and they run.

Later, when Lexa asks why she’d saved her, and Clarke will tell her it was out of duty, out of instinct—out of _necessity,_ and Lexa will not question it.

 

*

 

 

But her words will only be partially true: the reason why she’d saved her is the same as why she couldn’t slit her throat in her dreams—

Lexa means too much to her, even if Clarke doesn’t yet understand why.

 

 

*

 

 

“In my dreams, it always ends there.”

Clarke arches an eyebrow in question. She wraps Lexa’s arm in a sling, waiting for her to explain.

“In my dreams, I urge for you to leave, but you stare at me, unmoving,” Lexa clarifies. “It always ends there.”

She ties the ends of the sling together, tight against Lexa’s shoulder. “Are you glad that it now ends with me saving your ass?”

“No.”

Clarke scoffs, doesn’t know why she’d expected anything else, much less a thank you.

“These are dreams not fortunes, Clarke,” Lexa explains. “They are omens.” She pauses then, and looks at Clarke. Something in her expression shifts. She looks sad, almost. Resigned, when she says:

“And I have seen how this ends.”

Lexa leaves it at that, and Clarke thinks back to all that she has dreamed, and wonders, if so has she.

 

 

*

 

 

They are not omens, Clarke decides, when she wakes up to the sight of Lexa staring back at her, just as she did the night before Clarke fell down to Earth. There is comfort. There is warmth, familiarity—

They feel more like memories, moments she’s lived once before—moments tethered to _her_.

 

 

*

 

 

Perhaps that is why she warns Lexa first instead of all the others, at TonDC, and why she chose to save _her,_ instead of 250 villagers.

 

 

*

 

 

In her dreams, Clarke’s the one who kisses her first.

In her dreams, their lips are pressed against one another, their hands roam each other’s bodies, and they fall into bed, as though it is their last goodbye.

In her dreams, she lays beside Lexa—who is staring back at her, a soft smile playing on her lips. In that moment, Clarke is blissful and her heart feels full, even though she knows that when she leaves, it will soon be empty.

 

 

*

 

 

It catches her by surprise, when Lexa kisses her.

She kisses her soft, she kisses her shy—not at all like how she’d kissed her in her dreams. But it is full of promise and not of heartache, and Lexa looks hopeful when she concedes to her with a ‘maybe someday.’

Clarke may not be ready to love again, but one day, she will. And as she looks back at Lexa, with eyes full of understanding and gentle hope, she thinks that when that day comes, it will be with her.

 

 

*

 

 

White.

It is nothing but white, a never-ending sea of white. Nowhere to move. Nothing to touch. Just white.

But it is just a dream, and when Clarke wakes up, it is gone.

Still, she briefly wonders if Lexa was right—if these dreams are omens, and if this omen means their time together has come to an end.

 

 

*

 

 

Of all the dreams she’d dreamt, none of them prepared her for this:

Lexa makes a deal with Mount Weather, to exchange the lives of Clarke’s people for the lives of Lexa’s. Despite her pleas to help her fight, Lexa walks away, and leaves her behind. 

Now here she stands, alone, grieving for her misplaced trust on the girl she wrongly thought she could ever love.

 

 

*

 

 

Everything she does after, she does out of instinct. Muscle memory. It is only when her mother hugs her tightly that she realizes what has happened, and what she has done. And when even that does not sooth the pain she feels inside, she knows that she has bore too much for the sake of her people, and cannot bear it any longer.

So she runs, from her people, from herself, and from _her._

 

 


End file.
